


seasons of love

by delediers



Category: Men's Football RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 16:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19066837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delediers/pseuds/delediers
Summary: Gary Neville and kissing boys, name a better duo.





	seasons of love

There are three kinds of love a person can experience in his life.

  
_The first love._

  
The one you always remember. The one that you hold to the highest standard. The one you compare all the others to. The one that feels so perfect, until you realize it’s not.

  
He is handsome and charming and can certainly work a football with his feet. Everyone else is in love with him. Who are you to pretend you’re above them all? Who are you to even attempt to escape his charm?

  
You never really do anything about it. It’s the 90’s, you’re young, you don’t want to ruin your career. What would everyone else think? What would he think? So you stay silent. But it weighs down on you every day. It weighs down on you when you jump into his arms to celebrate one of his magnificent goals. When your hand lingers on his rain soaked jersey or threads into his dyed blond hair for a few more seconds than necessary. You start to think that maybe he knows. Maybe he feels it too. But still, you stay silent.

  
Until the last day. The day he says goodbye. You want to cry when he tells you but you keep it together. You can’t even imagine your life without him. So you tell him. You ask him to come to your house in the middle of the night. What an odd request. But he comes anyway. You tell him everything. Your mouth keeps on running, separately from your brain, against any common sense. This time you do cry. He doesn’t say anything, only listens with an indecipherable expression on his face.

  
“I’m in love with you, Becks. I have been for years. I couldn’t stand letting you go to Spain without telling you-”

  
He grabs your face in his hands without a warning and kisses you. You’d dreamt about this moment for almost every day in 9 years. It’s passionate and hungry and you blame yourself for not saying this sooner. Now you’ve missed your chance and you probably won’t be even seeing him in months. He stays the night, sleeps in your bed next to you. He holds you in his arms all night. When you wake up, he’s already gone.

***

  
_The perfect love._

  
After Becks leaves, your life feels emptier than ever. You have friends and family and teammates and girlfriends but it’s never enough. You need to love someone again. Real love. It makes you feel complete. You hate being alone.

  
In his last season as a player, he becomes your best friend. You’ve known him for 11 years but you’ve never been this close. His accent might sound more clear than yours at this point.

  
You go out one night. You get so drunk, you can barely walk. He drives you home, being the responsible friend as always. You’re the mess, he’s the responsible one.

  
“Why are you drinking so much lately, Gaz?” He says, voice kind and sweet as ever, eyes searching your own. He looks genuinely worried about you.

  
Before you can help it, you blurt everything out. About who you are, what you want, who you wanted and couldn’t have.

  
Because he’s kind and sweet he doesn’t judge you.

  
“Oh, Gary...” is all he says. It sounds like pity. You don’t want him to pity you. You’re fine. You tell him you’re fine. He laughs.

  
“You don’t seem fine.”

  
You’re sitting on your bed, a bit too close to each other, your clothed thighs touching. He stares at you for a bit too long. You wonder if maybe there’s something going on but your head is spinning and you don’t want to think about anything at that moment. It hurts. So you lay down on the bed, kick off your shoes and instantly fall asleep. You’re not so young anymore. You start to think you can’t hold your liquor as well as you did once.

  
But something does happen the next morning when you wake up and he’s left a glass of water and an aspirin on your bedside table. You smile. So thoughtful, isn’t he?

  
You find him in the kitchen, making breakfast.

  
“Don’t you have a house to be?”

  
“Ouch. Is that the thank you I get for carrying your hammered ass back here last night?”

  
“You want a thank you, huh?”

  
“I’d sure like one, yes.” He grins playfully, setting the pancakes on the table.

  
It’s impulsive and crazy but when have you ever listened to logic?

  
You turn him around, push him against the counter and make out with him for about an hour. It’s probably just a few minutes but it feels like an hour. He doesn’t protest or push you back.

  
Being with him makes you feel happy. It makes you feel safe. Less alone. It’s right and this time you don’t feel guilty or unnatural. It doesn’t take too long till you realize you love him. When you tell him, his eyes light up. His face breaks into this adorable smile of his. You love that smile. It brings warmth into your life. At that moment you think maybe, just maybe, when you’re both old and retired and the world doesn’t care about you anymore and it’s legal, you’ll marry him. You can imagine a life with him, yes.

  
It lasts for about 4 years. Then he goes back to Norway. 4 years and it’s so easy for him to break your heart. But it’s important to him. He wants to be a manager. This is his calling, as he always says. So you say your goodbyes in peace, hoping that your eyes don’t betray how devastated you are and how much you want to beg him to stay. You never could really say how you feel. You’re still that scared little boy who blushed when other boys took off their shirts in the academy locker rooms.

  
You say I love you one last time and he promises to call. There are tears in his eyes. You don’t see him for a while after that.

***

_The love of your life._

  
The kind that comes into your life like a tidal wave, like a whiplash or a brain freeze. It’s one of those things you see in movies but you don’t think could ever happen to you.

  
How can you love someone you’ve hated your whole life? Okay, hate's a strong word. You’ve been rivals for as long as you can remember. Rivals and teammates. But really, mostly rivals. He wore red, too, so you have one thing in common. But not the good kind of red. The one that makes your stomach twist. But he makes your stomach twist in a different way. There's a twinkle in his eyes that mesmerizes you. There's something about him and the way his suits always strain against his abs, like he chooses a size smaller on purpose every time, something that makes you question your sanity.

  
You bicker in front of the cameras and on social media (he’s really bad at social media by the way, unlike you) but he is always soft spoken when you’re alone. Almost treating you like a friend. Maybe you are friends, you realize one day after the two of you have gone for pints after work. You get a bit drunk. It reminds you of the night you confessed to Ole. Is that you trying to pick up the courage to say how you feel? Are you that much of a coward, you can’t say it sober?

  
“Can I kiss you?” You say out of the blue, as you’ve headed out to the parking lot. The silence is piercing your skin. Jamie cocks his head to the side looks at you for a while. He smiles.

  
“This funny to you?”

  
His expression turns serious and he shakes his head. He leans in and does the kissing part for you. It’s soft and sweet. That’s appropriate, you think. We’re both old men now. This is how old men kiss.

  
He proves you wrong when he takes you to his apartment and does all sorts of sinful things to you. ‘God, I’m going to hell’, you think as you feel his mouth on you. He sets your body on fire and makes your heart beat erratically fast. It lasts forever and when it’s over you only want more.

  
You do this at least once a week, usually after shows. You wonder if he loves you.

  
You read the news about Ole on a cold December morning. It should feel more significant.

  
“So... Solskjaer.” Jamie states rather than asks, trying to appear nonchalant. You’ve told him about Ole. And Becks. You’ve told him so much. When did you become a person who trusted others? Especially scousers.

  
“I sure hope he can do better, we’re a total mess right now.” You answer sipping your morning tea.

  
“Is that all you hope for?”

  
You chuckle.

  
“Relax, James. It’s been ages. He probably has his own life now and so do I. Besides, I usually prefer monogamous relationships.”

  
Your eyes widen, realising what you've said.

  
“So we’re in a relationship, then?”

  
“I don’t know, are we?”

  
You stare into his eyes, challenging him. _What are we James?_

  
“I suppose I should take you out on a date then.” He smirks. _Bastard. I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the terrible title. I finished this five minutes ago and wrote it in about an hour so it might be shit. But I think I was born to write about Gary Neville.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @ thorgan.


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